Bistro Style Table
by TreekiKat10
Summary: Franada. Matthew is feeling slightly depressed, so Francis initiates an impromtu plan.


France and his former colony, Canada, walked over to a bistro style table at the end of the younger's kitchen area. Francis noted the unusual pain in the other's eyes, so rarely shown, and only shown to him, if anyone. This was no physical pain, only emotional. Who knew that someone so seldom conversed with could get himself hurt like that. Francis knew he was the only one, it appeared, that saw this. Saw the misfortune and the diffidence in his sweet little Mathieu.

As they sat, the Frenchman set down two wine glasses on the heavily mosaic-ed surface, while Matthew set down the wine.

"C'est la vie, non?" Francis smiled at the little nation that sat across from him in the dimly lit room.

"Oui, Papa," Matthew answered, just wanting to down the liquor already and drink his sorrows out. He uncorked the bottle in a swift motion that would surprise most who didn't know him. Francis shot out one of his hands with a glass in it to catch the liquid before his little Mathieu spilled it all over the two.

Then Francis noticed something. It wasn't like he hadn't noticed it's existence before, just not quite fully connected the dots. He looked with slight wonder at that one string of hair that hung in his beautiful love's face, cocking his head to the side as he passed the now full glass to the bored and depressed looking Matthew. He looked at the perfect circle that it curled into in the middle of the strand, and had the urge to touch it, pull in it even. He reached his hand out to the visage of his secret object of affection, carefully bypassing the candle that sat in the center to the table.

As Matthew saw that graceful hand cast in front of him, getting closer and closer, the spectacled blonde wished that he could just wait patiently for those slender fingers to reach him. But of course he was cautious as always, leaping away out of his chair, yelping out a quick and shocked, "Papa!" right before Francis reached him.

That maneuver almost broke Francis's heart. _How could mon petit amour shy away from me like that? Ah, I know what I shall do! _ He thought as an absurd smile pasted itself on his face.

Standing up, he sauntered over to Matthew, now recovering from his shock. "Ne deplacez pas, mon Mathieu," His seductive grin grew larger. Matthew felt himself obey, breathing carefully as if even the slightest motion would displace the wonderful joy he felt as he was noticed. He was noticed! His heart leapt with unmeasurable joy at the long awaited moment when his Francis would finally reveal to Matthew his love and care.

The older of the two reached out once more for that incessantly bobbing curl of Matthew's. The other barely flinched as Francis put his hand around that one piece of hair that always set him off. Francis stroked it, ran his fingers up and down along it, all while his Matthew's face became red and his eyes became glinting.

Matthew recognized the look of absolute lust in his other's eyes, so common, so well known, but it was special, different this time. This time it was for him. His petit Matthieu. What was more surprising was the same look was seen by Francis in Matthew's eyes also. It sent him shivers down his spine and reinforcement for what he was about to do to his little nation.

By now the Frenchman had reduced to caressing the hair between only two finger when he finally took his eyes off of his prize. he noticed Matthew fidgeting, moving his hips, and squirming at his touch. Yes, yes, it was working. He lifted his gaze back onto the other's face. He saw his love's eyes filled with bliss, cheeks blushed as much as possible on his pale face, as he felt smooth, thin arms wrap around his neck, moving the face he was staring so intently at closer to him. He felt nails scratch at his neck and back while his fingers still moved all over the Canadian's curl.

"Want more?" Francis looked at his delicate little flower of a person, of a nation. His Matthieu whined yes and moved himself closer to the taller one. "Then follow me," Francis finished, dashing out of the room and into the hallway leading upstairs with one more glance at those devilishly hungry eyes his love possessed.

Matthew knew what he was doing, what was happening, and how much he wanted this. Finally his former mentor would have him, claim him for forever. He had these thoughts as he raced after the other blonde, rushing and taking his teal sweatshirt and trousers off as he ran. He rounded the top of the stairs in his own house, hearing a soft and recognizable "Mathieu, mon cher!" coming from his very own room. He let his smile turn into a broad and ready grin, as he excitedly entered the dim space to collapse into his Francis's arms.

It was the next day, and the nations were gathered for yet another world meeting. They had taken a small break from "work" and Alfred, Arthur, Matthew, Ivan, and Francis had grouped together to talk about any personal occurrences. Matthew had just gone out for a coffee break, while the rest had stayed behind in the conference room.

"Yo, Francis! What's with those crazy red scratch marks on your neck?" The American asked, his usual boisterous self.

"Yes, Frog, lost a fight recently?" Another familiar grumpy British accent added.

"Onhonhon! I hadn't noticed!" Francis laughed, "I really need to remind mon petit Mathieu to trim his nails."

Everyone in the circle got pale, excluding the Russian, who just kept his same insane smile, while the Canadian representative walked back into the room, arriving at the group, where Francis wrapped his arm around his little Canada, still chuckling.

**Thanks for reading! I don't know French, so feel free to correct any mistakes, as I had to use Google Translate.**

**Translations:**

**C'est la vie, non? - This is the life, no?**

**Ne déplacez pas, Mathieu - Do not move, Matthew**


End file.
